Chapter 212 The Fourteenth Day of Entering a Rebirth Novel

Chapter 212: The Fourteenth Day of Transmigrating into a Rebirth Novel

Three days passed by quickly.

On the wide plaza before the Jiying Hall, the crowd was now bustling with people.

The autumn sun hung high, making the glazed tiles of the hall shimmer, yet it could not outshine the hope and tension glimmering in the eyes of the young men and women below.

Civil and military officials lined the viewing stands on either side according to rank, dressed in formal robes, murmuring among themselves as their gazes occasionally swept over the dense crowd of candidates in the central square. Then, with reverence, they looked toward the figure standing high on the platform before the hall. Today, they were all here to watch the spectacle.

The Emperor sat upright on the dragon throne at the center of the platform, flanked by eunuchs and palace maids under a lavish canopy of umbrellas. A hint of curiosity played across his face—he was clearly intrigued by this "disciple-recruiting banquet" that he himself was presiding over.

But the focal point of everyone’s attention was undoubtedly the man standing quietly at the forefront of the platform—the National Preceptor, An Yi. He stood there motionless, clad in a black Daoist robe, his sleeves fluttering gently in the autumn breeze. His features, lit by the clear autumn sky, appeared even more refined and handsome. His usual gentle smile at the corners of his lips seemed to soothe the soul, yet his flawless beauty and transcendent aura created an invisible distance, as if he were a god looking down on the mortal world from the clouds.

An Yi’s gaze swept calmly over the crowd below.

There were more people than he had anticipated. It seemed the allure of becoming the National Preceptor's disciple was indeed considerable.

The crowd was clearly divided by class. In the front rows sat mostly the sons of officials, clad in silk and brocade, their expressions tinged with pride and confidence. In the middle and back rows, the attire was much plainer—seven or eight students from humble families. At the very back sat a few individuals in the simplest, even patched, clothing, their faces tense and fearful—commoners.

This was the result of his special directive to allow commoners of the right age to participate.

Clearly, the majesty of the imperial palace and the uncertainty of the selection process had deterred most who were interested. Only these few dozen had dared to come.

His gaze paused briefly on a few spots in the crowd.

At the very front, a particularly tall and robust figure stood out like a crane among chickens.

Among a group of "youngsters" who were younger and not fully grown, Huo Huai’s presence was impossible to ignore. He wore a form-fitting martial robe that accentuated his broad shoulders and straight back. His face was cold and stern, his features sharp.

Yet, in sharp contrast to his cold exterior, his ears were slightly flushed, and his body stiffened as his gaze dropped, refusing to meet An Yi’s eyes whenever the latter’s glance inadvertently swept over him.

An Yi understood. The heir of Marquis Zhongyong, Huo Huai, was the one who, over the past few months, had frequently "coincidentally" appeared near the National Preceptor’s mansion or along his routes to and from the palace, looking as if he wanted to approach but dared not, merely standing at a distance, blushing and stealing glances.

Shifting his gaze slightly, he spotted Ran Zhuyu in the middle of the crowd.

Today, she wore a blue dress, blending in with several other daughters of officials, not particularly conspicuous.

There were not many women present today—only this handful.

An Yi’s gaze did not linger on anyone too long; it soon swept over the entire crowd.

The thoughts of those below were practically written on their faces—desire, tension, calculation, unease, curiosity... All these emotions were laid bare before him.

With just one glance, he had already formed a rough idea of who to choose.

He turned his head slightly and signaled to the Taoist apprentice standing behind him.

The apprentice understood, stepped forward, and announced in a clear voice: "By order of the National Preceptor, the selection will now begin. Please take your papers and begin."

As soon as he finished speaking, several Taoist apprentices, carrying thick stacks of examination papers, filed down and began distributing them to the crowd.

This move immediately stirred murmurs and surprised exclamations.

"An examination?"

"Aren't we supposed to be tested on talent and aptitude?"

"Is the National Preceptor really testing us on the classics to pick disciples?"

Doubts swirled in everyone's mind. Those officials' sons, confident in their family education and literary talent, let out a small sigh of relief. If it was a test of writing, they were sure they wouldn't lose to anyone.

The students from humble families and commoners, on the other hand, mostly looked distressed. Many of them had barely had the chance to learn to read and write.

However, when the papers reached their hands and everyone saw the questions, their expressions became even more colorful—shock, bewilderment, helplessness... all kinds of reactions.

What... what kind of questions were these?

They were not the profound interpretations of scriptures they had imagined, nor were they poetry, prose, or political essays. Instead, they were all sorts of seemingly "miscellaneous" topics.

Some asked: "If iron tools rust, how should one handle and prevent it?" "Why does the air feel especially fresh after a thunderstorm?" "Why do the four seasons cycle and cold and heat alternate?"

There were also a few essay-type questions that were even stranger: "How do you view the earth beneath your feet and the sky above?" "What do you think 'fire' is?" "If you had eyes that could see extremely far, what do you think the stars would look like?"

This was completely beyond their knowledge!

Many officials' sons, who had memorized the Four Books and Five Classics since childhood and could even write ornate Taoist ritual texts, stared at the papers dumbfounded, unable to write a single word.

How could they possibly cater to the National Preceptor's tastes?

His preferences were indeed extraordinary!

Standing on the platform, An Yi took in the changing expressions of the crowd below—scratching their heads and ears—and the smile at the corners of his lips deepened slightly.

His gaze drifted to the back of the crowd, landing on two boys whose faces were as pale as paper.

They looked about twelve or thirteen years old, their coarse cotton clothes old but washed clean—clearly, they had tried their best to tidy up.

Now, holding the paper, which might as well have been written in a foreign language, their bodies were stiff, trembling slightly, their eyes filled with despair and fear.

They couldn't read or write.

They might not even be able to write their own names.

At that moment, only one thought filled their minds: It's over! They'll be seen as troublemakers! Will they be punished? Will their families be implicated?

An Yi quietly instructed the Taoist apprentice beside him.

The apprentice nodded, walked down from the platform, wove through the crowd, and stopped in front of the two boys, who were on the verge of collapsing.

"You and you, come with me," the apprentice said in a low voice.

The two boys were terrified, thinking they were about to be dragged off for punishment. Their legs gave out as they started to kneel, but the apprentice caught them, one in each hand: "Don't be afraid. The National Preceptor wants to see you."

Under the gaze of countless eyes—curious, envious, contemptuous—the two boys, trembling and unsteady, were led up onto the platform.

When had they ever experienced anything like this?

Above them sat the Son of Heaven and the hundred officials; below was a dense crowd of people. Their heads spun, and they fell to their knees with a thud, kowtowing frantically, their voices choked with sobs: "Spare... spare us, Your Majesty! Spare us, National Preceptor! We... we can't read... we didn't mean to cause trouble..."

The Old Emperor frowned but said nothing, simply looking at An Yi.